


Always Feeling, Always Hurting

by SweetTea186



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Feelings, Ghost Hunters, Holy bajeezus Sal are you okay, Mental Anguish, Other, Sally Face - Freeform, Video Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 22:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetTea186/pseuds/SweetTea186
Summary: As humans, one of our greatest gifts is our feelings. We have complicated emotions, thoughts, brains that work in mysterious ways. We feel, not only physically, but mentally as well.Sal hates feeling, though. He's been feeling all his life, and he's tired of it. It hurts.He just wants it to stop.
Kudos: 19





	Always Feeling, Always Hurting

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaaaaa, my writing partner was always so much better at writing angst than me, I literally don't understand how she does this without crying. I swear, I had to stop and step away so many times so I didn't start sobbing my eyes out.

Sal’s world blurred around him, the familiar basement residence of the Johnsons becoming strange and unfamiliar. Across the room from him, he could see the vague shape of his friend, his face hidden by a cloud of off-coloured smoke. He could faintly hear Larry mumbling to himself, though the only thing he could focus on was the faint thrum of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

He felt so blissfully numb, so blissfully good, but something was missing. He was so high, so full of the unfamiliar absence of pain, but it wasn’t enough, it was never enough.

Because there was always that annoying nagging at the back of his skull. That tingling buzz of pain, of hurt, of anger, of misery, of feeling.

No matter how numb he felt, he could always feel. The carpet beneath him. The blunt in his hand. The not-so-subtle pain of his “jaw” hanging loose. The ache from behind his eyes from the just slightly too-bright lights overhead. The sudden sting in his chest as he took another drag of smoke. 

Sal HATED feeling. 

  
  


Sal heard Travis’s punch to his face before he felt it. Heard the familiar crunch of bone breaking as his mask collided with his nose. Heard the much quieter crack of knuckles as they collided with heavy fibreglass. Heard blood splash against the inside of his mask as his skin split. Heard Travis’s roar of rage as he lunged at him. 

And then, again, he could feel. He could feel the bone of his nose pierce his skin. Feel warm blood drip down his face. Feel a buzz of pain run through his veins like a shockwave. Feel Travis pull his hand away from his face. Feel his mask slide back into place, only furthering the sting in his nose. 

He stood there, quiet, fists clenched, as Travis shouted slurs and curses at him. His heart screamed against his ribcage, shaking them like a deranged prisoner. 

He felt himself be picked up by the collar of his shirt, suspended off the ground by angry, clenched fists. His back slammed into the lockers, padlock digging into his spine. He heard Travis spit into his face, though he couldn’t feel it through the thick material of his mask. 

He hated how Travis screamed at him. Hated how it made him feel. Because it made him feel.

So he screamed back, ignoring the gentle ache in his heart as he poured his heart out to his long-time bully in the form of shouts and curses. 

He shouted, he yelled, he kicked, he writhed, he cursed, he cried. He felt Travis falter as he told him how much he fucking hated him, how he hated himself, how he hated fucking everything. 

Because it was true, and Travis knew it. Everyone knew it. They knew how much he was hurting inside. How messed up he was. And the worst thing was that they did nothing. 

They just made him feel more, with their stupid words, and their stupid faces, and their stupid feelings.

He HATED feeling. 

  
  


Fat, hot, salty tears streamed down his face. His hands shook, a bloody knife still clutched between his fingers. With every step he took, his lungs screamed, but not with exhaustion. With pain. 

He was filled with pain. With feeling, as he plunged his knife into yet another chest, another skull, another stomach. 

He hated this. He always hated feeling, but he hated this feeling in particular. The guilt. The pain. The grief. 

But still, Sal kept going. He killed and he killed and he killed and he hated every damn bit of it.

He saw red and blue, and he felt afraid. He felt relieved. He felt sad.

He HATED feeling.

  
  


As Sal sat in the electric chair, he wondered how this became his life.

What had he ever done to deserve this? He hadn’t been a bad kid, but misfortune, hate and pain had followed him wherever he went. 

Maybe it was good that he was dying. Then he wouldn’t have to feel anymore.

Yeah. This was a good thing. 

So as the electricity coursed through his body, Sal did not cry. He screamed, yeah, it hurt like hell, but he did not cry. In fact, he was happy. 

The executioner walked up to the still fizzling body of the killer, shaking his head. 

Because upon his scarred features, his horrifying face, rested a smile. For Sal Fisher did not have to feel anymore. He did not have to hurt anymore.

And that was all he ever asked for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This took me like three months, lol. I'm not very confident with writing angst, and I'm pretty sure this was out of character, but I enjoyed it and I think it was good and I hope you do too!


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